Keep The Faith, Baby
by dust on the wind
Summary: The liberation of Paris is a cause for celebration - and for reflection...


_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

 _A postscript to "Is General Hammerschlag Burning?" (Season 3)_

* * *

Except for the uniforms on the soldiers passing by, the street looked pretty much the same as it had a few weeks ago.

Just like those other young men, they came in groups of three or four, done up to the nines and eager to make the most of their first visit to the city of light. They strolled along the boulevardes, gazing around with wide-eyed fascination; every so often they stopped for a drink at one of the cafés, sitting outside where they could watch the girls go by.

Business as usual, except these kids didn't wear the insignia of the Third Reich, and they had none of the attitude of ownership which the Germans, consciously or not, had carried with them. The American and British boys acted like the visitors they were: seeing the sights, going to the top of the Eiffel Tower and taking photos of each other in front of the Arc de Triomphe and the Louvre, so they could show the folks back home that they'd really been to Paris. Then, as evening fell, they came in search of the famous night life; the brasseries and bars, clubs and cabarets.

A couple of GIs paused outside the Bal Africain, their attention caught by the brightly decorated shields and crossed spears prominently displayed on the big double doors, and by the captivating smile and exotic glamour of the lady whose image adorned the posters on either side. But the place seemed to be closed, so after a short discussion they moved on towards the bright light and the loud jazz music streaming from the entrance of Club Zodiaque, unaware of the woman observing from the curtained window above them.

Watching them make their way through the crowd, Kumasa was not sure whether she should laugh or cry, so she did neither. She drew her silk wrap closer around her shoulders, and leaned against the window frame, lost in her own thoughts.

 _Keep the faith, baby_.

The calm, resolute voice came back to her as clearly as if the speaker was in the room. Sometimes, in those rare moments of quiet, she could almost believe that if she closed her eyes, turned around quickly and opened them again...

A light but confident rap on the door broke in on her reverie. She didn't respond, but turned from the window at a second, more insistent knock. " _Entrez_ ," she called; and smiled at sight of her visitor. "I had a feeling it was you."

He took her hand, and kissed her on both cheeks. "Your doorman told me you were not here, so naturally I knew where to find you."

"You can't get good doormen these days," said Kumasa, her smile turning wry. She gave him the once over. "Well, don't you look like a million dollars? Where'd you scare up the new duds, honey?"

Lieutenant Maurice Dubois straightened the lapel of his smart, spotless uniform tunic. "Do you like it? I left it with a friend when I went into hiding, so it would be ready for the day when our armies returned to Paris."

"You're real good at planning ahead, aren't you? I guess a man's got to look pretty sharp for all those victory parades and celebration banquets. You know, just in case you end up sitting next to General de Gaulle."

This drew a laugh from him. "That would never happen. In any case, we have been too busy to think of such things. The parade was - how shall I describe it? - not without incident."

"You mean, German snipers shooting at you from the rooftops as you all marched past?" said Kumasa. "I'm not sorry I missed that. You boys might get your kicks out of street battles, but it sure ain't my idea of fun."

Dubois smiled, as though the last flurry of German intransigence had indeed given him some enjoyment. "Will you come to the reception tomorrow night? I can promise there will be no gunfire."

"I don't know." Kumasa went to the sideboard, where a cut-crystal decanter stood on a silver tray. "Calvados? Seems to me like a toast is called for, even if…"

She broke off, and after a few seconds Dubois finished for her: "Even if there is still work to do. Paris is liberated, but the enemy is still on French soil. We have to drive them out of France, and then pursue them all the way to Berlin. When we have crushed them on their own ground, when they have paid in full, then it will be over."

A chill ran across Kumasa's skin as she contemplated what might yet happen; but she put on a smile, and raised her glass. "Then let's hope it's sooner rather than later. To the end of the war, whenever it comes."

"And to our good friends and allies still in the war zone," said Dubois. "May they stay safe, until we get there."

"Amen to that." Damn it, she'd been trying not to show how much she cared, and had ended up sounding too flippant. Not that Dubois was fooled, going by the gleam of amusement in his eyes. He knew what, or rather who, was on her mind. Well, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her ask directly.

On the other hand, if she didn't ask...

"I don't suppose…has there been any news?"

"From inside Germany? No. Now the enemy is retreating, our lines of communication have been cut. Some Underground groups are still able to send radio messages to England, but not to Paris. The most recent information relayed from London is that Stalag 13 is still in operation. I hope with all my heart this is still the case, since my new assignment is to cross secretly into Germany and assist in the co-ordination of Underground activities in the Hammelburg area. If Colonel Hogan's operation has been shut down, it will make my work very much more difficult."

"Sounds kind of risky," said Kumasa.

This time he laughed out loud. "This from you? Who once sang at a cocktail party in Berlin attended by many of Hitler's inner circle, none of whom suspected you had a secret message for an Allied agent sewn into your dress? Who, at a private dinner, made the German garrison commander and the head of the Gestapo so jealous of each other that they went outside to settle their differences, leaving you free to rifle through the contents of their briefcases? And who saved half a dozen Resistance members from being arrested by disguising them as a merengue band hired to perform in this very club?"

She felt herself going hot with embarrassment, and once again tried to pass it off lightly. "Well, at least that night proved one thing. You Frenchmen sure know how to swing. And, honey, you were real cute with that accordion."

"Ah, you will not admit even now how bravely you served our cause," said Dubois. "Once you decided to join the fight, you were fearless. You risked your own life many times. We owe you a great deal. You, and Sergeant Kinchloe."

"Sergeant Kinchloe? What about him?"

Infuriatingly, he didn't answer; but she thought she saw the faintest sign of a smirk on his face, just before he hid it by finishing his drink. "You think he charmed me into it?" she burst out. "You really think some big, handsome cat from back home coming round here spinning a line of smooth talk was all it took to bring me round to your side?"

"I know that we spent many months trying to win your help, and made no progress until he came to Paris and spent a single day with you," replied Dubois dryly. "Is it a mistake for me to assume that his visit had something to do with your change of heart?"

Kumasa opened her lips to repudiate the suggestion, but closed them again, and took a few steps around the room. "I guess you're right, in a way. But it's not like you think. When he showed up, it brought back a lot of memories."

She fell silent, swirling the liquor in her glass. "Let me tell you something, Maurice," she said abruptly. "When I was a kid... well, let's just say Detroit wasn't the best place for a girl with a big voice and stars in her eyes. I wanted more out of life than a dead-end job or a dead-beat husband. I wanted - oh, baby, I wanted to shine."

"You certainly succeeded."

"Maybe. But it wasn't an easy ride. To make it in this business, you have to be tough. Double tough if you're a woman, and as for being black...well, sooner or later you figure out that nobody's gonna give you anything unless there's something in it for them, and once they've gotten whatever they want, you're on your own again. Kind of a hard lesson, but I learned it, real good. Good enough so when I finally gave up on the States and came to Paris, I made up my mind I was going to make it on my own terms. And when the war started, it was easy enough to tell myself it was no business of mine. Staying on top was all that mattered. If that meant welcoming the Germans when they arrived on the doorstep, that was all right by me."

Dubois tilted his head to one side, his eyebrows drawing in slightly, but he made no comment. Her face was burning again, and to distract herself she finished her Calvados and put the glass back on the tray. His silence was getting to her; she had to say something. "I guess your opinion of me just took a dive."

"Not really," he said. "Many of our comrades struggled with the choice, even my own countrymen. But you made your decision so suddenly, when we had almost given up hope of you. If it was not because of Sergeant Kinchloe..."

She laughed softly. "Oh, I'll admit he had a hand in it. Man, did he ever tell me some home truths! For a guy who was so quiet back in the old days, once he found something to say, he sure knew how to say it. But by the time he turned up, even though I didn't want to admit it, I was already more than halfway there. All he really had to do was to give me a nudge in the right direction."

"I see. And would I be presuming too much if I ask how he did that?"

"He said I should ask myself whether I wanted to live in a Hammerschlag kind of world."

"Ah, yes. General Hammerschlag, the late commander of the Paris garrison." His eyebrows drew together. He certainly had reason to despise Hammerschlag.

Kumasa suppressed a smile. "Now there's a man you should thank, if any thanks are needed," she said. That surprised him, all right, and she let him sweat for a few seconds before she explained further: "You see, I'd spent a lot of time in Hammerschlag's company, long enough to know that any world run by men like him wasn't somewhere I wanted to be. So when Ivan – Sergeant Kinchloe – put it to me that it was time to pick a side, I didn't have to think about it too hard."

"I see. In that case, I must be sure to thank the general, if I ever see him again. Which is not likely, since I imagine on his return to Berlin he was greeted by a firing squad." He studied Kumasa's face for a moment, assessing her reaction to the suggestion; then, apparently satisfied, he put down his empty glass. "I must go. There is a briefing tonight which I must not miss on any account."

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you from that," she replied. "We can talk another time. That is, as long as you don't go running off on your new assignment without telling me."

Dubois laughed. "I will be sure to call on you before I leave. Of course, you will surely see me at the reception tomorrow, if you are there." He paused, then went on abruptly. "Please do not disappoint your many friends and comrades by staying away. You must know how much joy it would bring them to celebrate our victory with you. As for me, I would consider it an honour if you would allow me to be your escort for the evening."

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She couldn't face it; a big shindig like that, all champagne and caviar, speeches and celebration – it didn't bear thinking about. What would Ivan - Sergeant Kinchloe - what would he say if he heard she'd been partying with the bigwigs in Paris, while he was still slogging it out in the war zone?

 _Keep the faith, baby..._

"What did you say?" Dubois was staring at her in bewilderment. Kumasa hadn't even been aware of speaking aloud; but the words, long kept safe in her memory, struck a chord which dispelled all her uncertainty. She knew exactly what Ivan Kinchloe would expect her to do. She met Dubois's curious gaze, and smiled.

"Pick me up at eight," she said.

* * *

 _Note: although Kinch's name is James, Kumasa refers to him as "Ivan" in the episode._


End file.
